


The Other Side

by Khashana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon - Movie, Deathly Hallows Spoilers, M/M, Movie Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khashana/pseuds/Khashana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's perspective on the events of the Deathly Hallows movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> MOVIE perspective, not book, just ‘cause it’s the movie that has such slashy subtext I had to play with.  
> Disclaimer: Contains movie dialogue. I do not own this movie dialogue. I will give up ownership of the whole fic if I have to, but it couldn’t be written without it, and I avoided it as much as possible. Actually, this stemmed from wanting to make a ‘subtext’ video of the Room of Requirement scene, but I don’t have the software and this allowed me to branch out to the rest of the two movies. I don’t own the characters, indicia, or even the plot, just a slashy mind.

Miss Charity Burbage hung above Draco Malfoy’s head. He couldn’t stop looking at her—whether from disgust or fascination even he didn’t know.  
Is this right? Is this how it’s supposed to be? She deserved it. Muggles are not worthy of wizards. But this? Draco wondered if this would be his fate if his father made any more mistakes. Or if the Dark Lord knew…Draco pushed that thought from his mind. Not now, not here. He returned to staring at Charity Burbage.  
When his mother called him from his reading, excitement in her usually unrevealing tone, Draco was apprehensive. When he saw the face, his heart stopped cold. Him. Swollen beyond almost all recognition, beyond, he thought, his father’s, his aunt’s, certainly Scabior’s. But not beyond his. Never. The eyes, those were the eyes that had stared into his, inches away, blazing with fire. That was the hair, grown some, that he had run his hands through. The hands, though bleeding and bruised, were not changed in their essential shape, and were the hands that had caressed Draco’s body. His aunt was pushing him to identify. He stalled, not sure why he was doing it. Loyalty to his one-time lover? Loyalty was for Gryffindors. As much as he wanted to regain the Dark Lord’s favor, this? For it to have been him that ensured Harry Potter’s death? Would Potter hang like Charity Burbage? Would he turn to Draco as Charity had turned to Snape? Bellatrix saved him from his agony. The sword, the sword must be identified, and the prisoners would be placed in the dungeon. Draco watched impassively as Granger was tortured. Inside, he was a whirl of emotion. Yes, Granger was a Mudblood, but did anyone deserve to have the word carved into their flesh? And then the attack came, that Draco could almost have told them to expect. This was, after all, Harry Potter that they were dealing with. Part of him hoped that Harry would escape, and he would have no more part in this. But no. Bellatrix had a knife to the Mudblood’s throat, and—idiots!—Harry and Weasley were dropping their wands. His aunt was telling him to pick them up. Well, that he could do, and, after a second’s hesitation, he did. And then, of all things, his old house-elf, unscrewing the chandelier. Draco felt no real surprise, mostly a mild appreciation for Harry’s extraordinary luck and nerve. In a whirlwind of motion, the prisoners were free. Bellatrix’s wand was flying through the air, and Harry was there, yanking the wands out of his grasp. Reflexively, Draco held on—the phoenix wand, he might not have fought, but these were a blackthorn and his own—but Harry got them. Their eyes met for a split second. And then they were gone. Draco had a few seconds relief before the reality hit him—once again, they were disgraced. They had had Potter, and he had got away.  
The punishment was terrible. The Cruciatus Curse fell on them all. Draco vowed, every time the curse hit him, that he would have revenge on Potter for leaving him like this, for indirectly subjecting him to this. Draco felt naked without his wand. He missed it as he would an arm.   
It wasn’t long after that Malfoy Manor became a bustle of activity. His mother came to see him, fear and resolve at once reflected in her eyes.  
“It’s time,” she told him. “Hogwarts intends to fight, and we must go.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then removed her wand from a pocket in her robes and handed it to Draco. “Take this, for you will need it.”  
“Mother,” started Draco, but she shook her head.   
“Your need is greater.”  
He took it, and turned it over in his hand. He didn’t like it. After his mother left, he practiced a few small spells, but nothing came as easily as it had with his hawthorne wand. He had only a few minutes before his father called him. It was time to Disapparate.  
As they entered the castle, Draco found Goyle and Zabini in a small knot of Slytherins being led to the dungeons. He grabbed them, and followed Potter, who was walking around the school as though he still belonged there.   
He watched as Potter stopped at the Room of Requirement. He would never be able to follow Potter in there, so he whispered, “We attack before he gets in.” The others nodded. But when the door materialized for Potter, Draco stopped them. He recognized that door. Furthermore, he knew what to think to get in. After Potter had entered and the door had sealed, he stepped up to it and walked back and forth three times, thinking, “I need the place where everything is hidden,” until the door materialized again. Draco opened it, and, beckoning to Goyle and Zabini, followed him.   
They moved silently through the hall. Draco knew this room so well, he was having déjà vu. Then, he spotted Potter. The other boy was fingering something inside a small box. What, Draco neither knew nor cared.   
“Well, well,” he said, and Potter turned. “What brings you here, Potter?”  
“I could ask you the same,” said Potter, the first words they’d actually spoken to each other all year.  
“You have something of mine,” replied Draco. Yes, his wand, which was clutched in Potter’s hand. His dignity, also. His Malfoy pride. “I’d like it back.”  
“Well, what’s wrong with the one you have?” asked Potter. Didn’t he know? Draco hadn’t seen the phoenix wand at Malfoy Manor. Well, Draco was good at Charades. And he saw a way to explain. And to taunt.  
“It’s my mother’s,” he answered. “It’s powerful, but it’s not the same.” A perfect metaphor for what being with Harry was like, as opposed to what being on the Dark Side was like.  
“Doesn’t quite understand me.”  
Not like you.   
“Know what I mean?”  
Take the hint, Potter. Which one is which?  
“Why didn’t you tell her?” asked Harry, and Draco was sure he was trying to deflect. “Bellatrix. You knew it was me.” Or not. In fact, he was throwing the conversation back to a place Draco didn’t like. Very Slytherin. “You didn’t say anything.” Oh, how he wished he could. How he wished he could tell Harry that he never wanted him to die, that all he’d ever wanted was to be safe, with dignity and honor intact. The Dark Lord took the one away, and Harry Potter took the other. But they were not alone, a fact reinforced by Goyle whispering “Come on, Draco. Don’t be a prat,” in his ear. “Do him!” Draco thought wryly of the meanings that phrase could have. Part of him longed to whisper, “I have,” in return.  
It would be then that Weasley and Granger showed up and distracted everybody. Goyle shot a killing curse at Granger. Enraged, Weasley pelted after the Slytherins, throwing jinxes so fast they had very little room to retaliate. Draco shot Stunners wherever he could fit them in. Then Goyle raised his wand, pointing it, not at Weasley, but at a pile of objects nearby, and yelled, “Incendio vivicus!”  
“You idiot, Goyle!” hollered Zabini. Weasley turned and ran full tilt, but Draco couldn’t blame him. If only he himself had reacted a little faster, he would have done the same. But the fire, spreading far more quickly than could be natural, was not only sprouting flaming creatures, dragons and chimeras, but had also closed off the clearest exits. Worse, the flames were still issuing from Goyle’s wand. Draco and Zabini bolted down a passageway, and, when that turned out to have fire at the end, too, began to climb a stack of debris. Draco heard a scream, and turned his head in time to see Goyle falling from where he had apparently climbed a different stack, into the devouring flames. Draco swallowed. He climbed faster, but there was really no hope. And then, Potter and Weasley zoomed into view, mounted on broomsticks. Trust you lot to find brooms in this place, thought Draco briefly, before the whole of his thoughts were consumed by the realization that his lover had come back for him. Harry reached down, and Draco grabbed for his hand, but it slipped away. Harry flew lower, and this time managed to pull Draco up behind him. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, at first instinctively, so as to keep his balance, and then reveling in the feel of Harry’s body pressed against his, Harry in his arms. He had not realized just how much he had missed this feeling. Yet, even as they crashed just outside the door, Draco was overwhelmed by fear. Fear of the Dark Lord if he knew Draco’s thoughts. Fear that he had communicated something to Harry, and Harry would make it known to the Dark Lord—or anyone!—somehow. And, indeed, a terror of the flames that can only come from having been inches from death and not out of the woods yet. Fear drove Draco Malfoy to his feet and away, without a backward glance.  
Draco stood with the other students and defenders of Hogwarts, blending in, facing the Dark Lord and his army. Perhaps he could stay? Perhaps no one would notice him. No sooner had he thought it than his father and mother called out to him from the other side, beckoning him over. Then the Dark Lord himself.  
No, Draco thought for a single, futile minute. I’m on Harry’s side. But Harry was dead, lying across from him. The Dark Lord had won. There was no point standing up to him. Draco crossed the no man’s land between the armies.  
Nineteen years later, Draco’s wife wanted to know why he was so antsy about going to Platform 9 ¾ to drop off Scorpius. He told her he was just slightly overwhelmed by the idea of sending away their only son. In reality, though, it was the glimpse, the simple glimpse, of black hair and glasses, over the heads of five small preteens, past Weasley, girl Weasley, and Granger, that one glimpse, the first time since that fateful night, of Harry Potter.   
Fin


End file.
